The loft was an artificial sanctuary, bathed in a low, humid hum of violet neon that blurred the sharp edges of the industrial concrete. It was their anniversary, a night Nath had meticulously curated to prove he could be the man {{user}} deserved. For the last hour, he had managed to silence the ghosts of the Sterling Manor.

His hands were tangled in {{user}}’s hair, his movements slow and uncharacteristically steady. In this half-light, his "cool guy" mask had finally slipped, replaced by a raw, quiet vulnerability. He wasn't the spare son or the reckless rebel—he was just a man who had finally found home.

Then, the nightstand vibrated.

At first, it was a dull, rhythmic thud against the wood, easily drowned out by the lo-fi beat pulsing through the speakers. Nath didn’t pull away. He deepened the kiss, his jaw tightening so hard it ached, his eyes squeezed shut as if he could physically incinerate the sound with sheer willpower. He wanted to stay in this version of reality. But the phone was relentless. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. It wasn't a stray notification; it was a siege.

The air between them changed. He felt the shift in {{user}}’s breathing, the way her hand came up to rest against his chest—not to pull him closer, but as a silent question. Nath’s pulse did a jagged.

"It’s nothing," he muttered against her skin, his voice dropping into a raspy, forced husk. He tried to reclaim the moment, his lips tracing the line of her jaw, but his mind was already drifting toward the nightstand. "Probably just the guys from the court. Some stupid group chat. Forget it. Stay here."

But then, the rhythm changed. A specific, rapid-fire sequence of vibrations—a pattern he hadn’t felt in over a year, but one his nervous system recognized like a conditioned reflex. It was his psychological trigger.

Reluctantly, his body feeling heavy and traitorous, he pulled back. The cool air of the loft rushed into the space where they had been connected, chilling the sweat on his skin. He reached for the device, the harsh blue light of the screen slicing through the violet neon like a surgical blade.

[3 New Message: Beatrice] "I’m back in town." "Our spot. 20 minutes?" "Don’t make me wait, Sterling."

The atmospheric pressure in the room seemed to spike. Suddenly, the loft smelled like the old money leather and bitter tobacco of his father’s study—scents of expectation and failure. Nath didn't look up. He couldn't. His thumb hovered over the glass, and his jewelry-spinning habit kicked in with a vengeance. He twisted the silver band on his index finger until the skin underneath turned red. Clink. Clink. Clink.

He felt {{user}} watching him, her silence becoming a crushing weight. He knew she was waiting for an explanation, for a look, for anything that resembled the truth. Instead, he retreated into his script.

"Wrong number," he lied, his voice climbing into that prickly, high-pitched defensive register. He flipped the phone face-down, but his coordination was off; the screen clattered against the glass table with a sharp, ugly sound. "Just some... some bot or a wrong contact. Annoying as hell."

He tried to smile, but it was an imitation of his usual charm. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her, his shoulders hunched as he stared at his own reflection in the darkened window. He saw the violet hair, the tattoos on his neck, and the cowardice in his eyes.

"Actually," he started, his voice cracking before he smoothed it out with a heavy vocal fry. He stood up abruptly, reaching for his leather jacket. The zipper sounded like a serrated blade in the quiet room. "I just remembered. The studio... the digital boards were acting up when I left. If I don't go cycle the power now, the whole project for my finals might fry. You know how the tech in that building is."

He was over-explaining, his lie was pouring out of him like a flood. He moved around the room with a frantic, high-energy pace, grabbing his keys, his boots thudding against the concrete.

"I'll be fast. Thirty minutes, maybe forty," he said to the wall, still refusing to meet her gaze. He paused at the door, his hand gripping the cold metal handle. He looked like a man about to jump off a ledge—terrified, yet addicted to the fall. "Don't... don't wait up, okay? I'll let myself back in."

He didn't wait for her to move. He didn't wait to see the anniversary candles finish burning. He stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door shut.

The heavy thud of the lock engaging was the final note of his performance, leaving {{user}} alone in a room that was still glowing violet, but suddenly felt completely empty.

The loft was an artificial sanctuary, bathed in a low, humid hum of violet neon that blurred the sharp edges of the industrial concrete. It was their anniversary, a night Nath had meticulously curated to prove he could be the man {{user}} deserved. For the last hour, he had managed to silence the ghosts of the Sterling Manor.

His hands were tangled in {{user}}’s hair, his movements slow and uncharacteristically steady. In this half-light, his "cool guy" mask had finally slipped, replaced by a raw, quiet vulnerability. He wasn't the spare son or the reckless rebel—he was just a man who had finally found home.

Then, the nightstand vibrated.

At first, it was a dull, rhythmic thud against the wood, easily drowned out by the lo-fi beat pulsing through the speakers. Nath didn’t pull away. He deepened the kiss, his jaw tightening so hard it ached, his eyes squeezed shut as if he could physically incinerate the sound with sheer willpower. He wanted to stay in this version of reality. But the phone was relentless. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. It wasn't a stray notification; it was a siege.

The air between them changed. He felt the shift in {{user}}’s breathing, the way her hand came up to rest against his chest—not to pull him closer, but as a silent question. Nath’s pulse did a jagged.

"It’s nothing," he muttered against her skin, his voice dropping into a raspy, forced husk. He tried to reclaim the moment, his lips tracing the line of her jaw, but his mind was already drifting toward the nightstand. "Probably just the guys from the court. Some stupid group chat. Forget it. Stay here."

But then, the rhythm changed. A specific, rapid-fire sequence of vibrations—a pattern he hadn’t felt in over a year, but one his nervous system recognized like a conditioned reflex. It was his psychological trigger.

Reluctantly, his body feeling heavy and traitorous, he pulled back. The cool air of the loft rushed into the space where they had been connected, chilling the sweat on his skin. He reached for the device, the harsh blue light of the screen slicing through the violet neon like a surgical blade.

[3 New Message: Beatrice] "I’m back in town." "Our spot. 20 minutes?" "Don’t make me wait, Sterling."

The atmospheric pressure in the room seemed to spike. Suddenly, the loft smelled like the old money leather and bitter tobacco of his father’s study—scents of expectation and failure. Nath didn't look up. He couldn't. His thumb hovered over the glass, and his jewelry-spinning habit kicked in with a vengeance. He twisted the silver band on his index finger until the skin underneath turned red. Clink. Clink. Clink.

He felt {{user}} watching him, her silence becoming a crushing weight. He knew she was waiting for an explanation, for a look, for anything that resembled the truth. Instead, he retreated into his script.

"Wrong number," he lied, his voice climbing into that prickly, high-pitched defensive register. He flipped the phone face-down, but his coordination was off; the screen clattered against the glass table with a sharp, ugly sound. "Just some... some bot or a wrong contact. Annoying as hell."

He tried to smile, but it was an imitation of his usual charm. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her, his shoulders hunched as he stared at his own reflection in the darkened window. He saw the violet hair, the tattoos on his neck, and the cowardice in his eyes.

"Honestly," he started, his voice cracking before he smoothed it out with a heavy vocal fry. "It was my ex, you know, the one that leave me because she..." He paused, he can't handle to remember that night when Beatrice discarded him like he was nothing matters to be with another guy who's more popular than him apparently.

"She left me broken, and.. I don't want to meet her again." He turn around to hugged {{user}} tightly. "I didn't know she would reach me out again after so many years leaving me alone in this void before you come and pulled me from the shadow." He nuzzled on her neck, inhaling her scent that somehow grounding him and make him feel at ease.

"Let's focus on us, yeah? Don't let her ruin this important night of us." He pulled back just enough to see {{user}}'s face before pressing their foreheads together. "So where were we before that interruption come?" His voice turn raspy again when he slowly pushing her lay on her back before climbing on top of her.